


I Can't Go On, But I Can't Leave You (What Do I Do?)

by ShippingThings



Category: The Runaways (2010), The Runaways (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Extended Scene, F/F, Implied Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Relationship(s), Underage Smoking, but Joan loves Cherie so much..., hes so gross., kim isnt really in this.... they just mention him...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingThings/pseuds/ShippingThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Japan is where it all starts to fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Go On, But I Can't Leave You (What Do I Do?)

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly sure if this is good or not? *shrug*  
> Title from Dead End Justice by The Runaways.  
> not beta'd

Japan is where it all starts to fall apart.

Her face is red and  _ black _ , but somehow still washed out. Her body is pale and purple. She’s small and sticky with sweat and booze, eyes far off and foggy. She looks grim, like she dead or dying. Cherie really hates to admit, even in her brain, that she  _ knows _ it,  _ knows _ how horrible she looks. 

They walk into their dressing room after just finishing the set, Joan flops down on the couch, Sandy drapes herself over a chair, and Cherie, still fronting as the ‘ _ sex kitten _ ’ that Kim had named her, stalks over to a seat and places herself in it, demanding attention that none of the girls, excluding Joan, are willing to grant her. She seethes in the feeling of desperation for eyes on her as she lights a cigarette, her  _ fourth-fifth?-no sixth- _ of the night.

“Oh my god, Sandy look at that!” Joan exclaimed excitedly, eyes widening in wonder, the darker blonde turns towards the floor length window in the room to see fans outside, the screams can be heard through the walls and the material vibrates as fists pound against it.

“Oh shit-” Sandy mutters, also a little awed by the sight and sound of people cheering for  _ them _ . Cherie rolls her eyes at this, they are  _ legends _ . It shouldn’t be surprising people want them.

Then Lita comes storming in. “What is this?” she snaps, full of rage as she flings papers at Cherie that fall to the ground.

“What’s your problem?” she questions, glancing down at the scattered pages of the magazine the other girl had thrown, unsure of what she’d done to deserve such an outburst. 

“What's your  _ fucking _ problem?”

Sandy looks down at the magazine, at the pictures of Cherie, maybe a little too stoned or drunk to realize what it means as she adds “that is cool.”

“It’s not cool!” Lita shouts, which causes Robin and Sandy to lean forward to examine them closer. “Did you know about this?” she screeches, turning to Joan and chucking another magazine at her.

As Cherie looks down at the pictures of her, she can put together why Lita is mad, even in her doped out state.  _ She’s the only one who did them. _ She’s wearing practically nothing. Just black underwear and a corset. She tosses the photo back to the floor, a little unbelieving and overwhelmed. She watches Joan sit up and open the book, nerves filling her in a way she hasn’t felt since they started performing. The blonde feels bile rise in her throat as the darker haired girl looks up at her, eyes boring into her intensely. 

She takes another drag of her dwindling cigarette, now knowing everyone is looking at her and suddenly not wanting it so much anymore. “Kim sent them over. They just showed up at my house with cameras, what was I supposed to say?”

“You could say  _ no _ .” It’s said sharp, like an accusation or Joan’s switchblade. “You could say ‘I’m the _ singer _ in a band,  _ not Linda fucking Lovelace _ .’” The girl gets up, pacing around angrily. The cheering gets louder. “Look at this!” she exclaims to Lita, flipping through the pages even further and Cherie wishes she’d just  _ stop _ . 

Cherie feels  _ disgusting _ , ( _ humiliatedexposed _ **_dirty_ ** _ ) _ like some prostiute or stipper that people think they  _ own _ because they can see their bodies.

And Cherie  _ knows _ Kim, in all of his androgynous, makeup wearing, loud mouthed, vulgar  _ glory _ , would be  _ feeding _ off this moment like a cockroach. Somewhere deep inside her it makes her feel more  _ sick _ than she already does. That sleazeball would be egging them on, turning them against each other, saying that in some twisted way this would  _ help _ them. Cherie can't see a way how everyone hating her would help anybody.

“When did you do this?” There is a long pause as Joan stares down at her, disappointment written on all of her features. “It’s  _ exactly _ what Kim wants, he’s gonna be really happy… But this is all they're  _ ever _ gonna say about us.” Cherie can see what she’s done. She’s labeled them all  _ sluts _ , because she listened to Kim Fowley. Her sister had called him a creep and in this moment she really wishes she’d listened to Marie for once. “You think anybody’s gonna take us seriously?"

Sandy and Robin stare at the two of them in disbelief as Joan starts to get really angry at her for the first time and she starts digging into her harshly and critically like she does everyone else, but never Cherie, until now.

“I’m sorry… It was just publicity. It helps everybody,” she attempts to defend herself, regurgitating Kim’s own words and making herself nauseous. She sounds small, like a little kid, not the lead singer of a rock group.

The sound from outside grows.

“What were you  _ thinking? _ Publicize the music! Not your  _ crotch! _ ” Joan yells angrily, for once not looking at Cherie like she’s a  _ star _ (both literally and figuratively). Cherie feels the urge to duck her head and cry, to run out of the room, to throw something, anything that doesn’t involve seeing the repulsed expressions on her bandmates faces. On  _ Joan’s _ face.

Then the window shatters, glass falls away like her dignity. Screaming fans flood into the room. Cherie rushes clumsily out of the low chair, falling a little before forcing herself up, willing, _forcing_ , her shaky body to carry her quickly from the _tearinggroaping_ ** _violating_** mass of limbs nipping at her ankles. She stumbles, legs tangling up in themselves as she tries her best to run in her inebriated state. 

Then she feels a soft palm, callused fingers, around her wrist and she thinks she’s about to be in deep shit, until she realizes that it’s familiar, harsher than normal, but familiar.  _ Joan _ . The black haired girl yanks her forward, pulling her to safety. They run next to each other for a few moments, Cherie starting to fall back automatically, until Joan pulls then pushes her, in front of her and behind who Cherie thinks is Sandy. 

They bolt through the long halls of the hotel, the sound of frenzied screaming gaining on them, echoing around them so it feels like there is no hope for escape. The fading red of the carpeting sliding under her heels and Joan’s beat up black converse she’s had since before they were famous. Cigarette smoke invades Cherie’s nose, for once completely unwelcome as she starts to wonder exactly how she got here. Joan's hand presses, right in between her shoulder blades as she propels the both of them forward. Cherie can feel tears start to form, blurring her vision even further and she knows she should focus on not getting mauled, but the fact that she can fuck up so royally and Joan will still try to protect her makes her wonder why she, a complete and utter  _ garbage person _ , can know Joan Jett, who isn’t afraid to stick up for herself, or anyone else she feels is being mistreated. It also makes Cherie wonder how Joan got wrapped up in all this  _ shit _ and if it’s somehow her fault.

Eventually, the five of them escape, after running into some roadies who call security for them. They sit in one of the guy’s hotel rooms (which are nothing close to the suites they’ve all become accustomed to) while the wait for the mob to get cleared out. They sit, in tense silence, going from staring at the door, to each other, to the door again. Lita and Robin whisper back and forth, glancing back at her every few minutes with a dirty look, each of which makes her feel even worse than the last. Sandy sits closest to Cherie, looking at her every so often too, but more like she's checking up on her, not judging, which she appreciates.

Joan is the only one who won't  _ look _ at her. She’s got her eyes fixed on the door, she’s far away as she can be from Cherie in the limited space which means she’s near Lita and Robin and can no doubt hear what they are saying about her and she’s not doing  _ shit _ about it. Maybe it's the drugs starting to wear off but it makes Cherie feel lost and light headed and like she has nowhere left to go.

Hours have past like this before the guards come in to get them, escorting the girls down to a car waiting patiently. None of them are talking at this point. The blonde crawls into the back seat, she can’t help but expect Joan to come crawling in after her, for Joan’s shoulder to be there for the blonde to rest her head on, but instead it’s Sandy, with an awkward half smile. Then Joan get’s in, not sparing a glance her way.

Cherie thinks she’s ruined everything and she wants to go home.


End file.
